


to chicago

by thisissirius



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M, Soul Bond, trade fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-29
Updated: 2013-12-29
Packaged: 2018-01-06 12:01:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1106574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisissirius/pseuds/thisissirius
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one where Jonny plays for the Blues, Patrick plays for the Hawks, and they soulbond.</p>
            </blockquote>





	to chicago

**Author's Note:**

  * For [oshiesaurus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/oshiesaurus/gifts).



> Written for Oshiesaurus as part of a fic exchange. I completely mangled the prompt because I suck. I hope this is at least close to what you wanted <3
> 
> A big thank you to hazel for the beta. I appreciate it, thank you! :)
> 
> This should probably be thousands of words longer, but I wrote it in a day as is, so my deepest apologies.
> 
>  **Warnings;** The typical warnings that go along with a soulbond and however you find that.

When Patrick bonds, he’s standing in the locker room giving an interview. He turns his head and feels the bond like a physical punch to his chest. It blossoms out through his body and he’s smiling before he can stop himself, knows the interviewer catches it, but can’t bring himself to care. 

He knows about bonds - his grandparents bonded when they were in their late teens - but he’s not prepared for the sensation of drowning, a rush of memories that aren’t his own and a sensation of _mine_ all over.

“Uh-” he says, stuttering, and failing to answer the question he’s being asked. He swallows thickly at the _what the fuck_ that rings too loud in his ears. 

_Keep it down, dude_ , Patrick says - thinks? - because he knows that voice, knows the kid in all of those memories and he has one thing right: _what the fuck_.

As quick as the memories come, they tumble away until Patrick’s left with an unsettled, empty feeling and a vague sense of grumpiness. 

_Later,_ Jonathan Toews promises.

\--- 

Jonathan Toews, captain of the St. Louis Blues, and permanent thorn in Patrick’s side. Okay, that’s totally not true and mostly something the media made up to accentuate the rivalry between the Blues and the Hawks, but that doesn’t mean Patrick wants a soul bond with the guy. He’s the only person who’s ever been able to get a rise out of Patrick enough that he manages to draw stupid penalties. They argue across the ice and on the benches, and on one memorable, _famous_ occassion, at the All Star game when they were on the same team.

Patrick’s not sure how he manages to get through the game. Even though both he and Jonny throw up shields just like everyone is taught in high school, stuff still bleeds through. It shows in his game - he misses a shot he should have made and his shots are sloppy, along with fumbling some easy passes. Jonny’s just as bad; he’s still good, still manages to skate rings around the Hawks’ defence, but most of his passes don’t connect and he fails to sink an open-net goal. Kaner’s used to the frustration all around whenever they play the Blues, but it’s even more frustrating for Duncs and Seabs this time around. They fail to keep Jonny from the goal and he cradles a pass from Oshie and hits the back of the net. Patrick makes a face. 

_Sweet pass,_ he tells Jonny. He doesn’t risk a glance at the Blues’ bench, but he feels surprise bleed through the bond. There’s no reply, but whatever. Patrick can totally deal with a one-sided conversation. _Your stick handling needs work though._

Anger and disbelief. Patrick grins and looks out over the ice. Shawzer picks up a turnover and he snorts. 

_Tough break_.

Anger again, but this time a little amusement goes along with it, if Patrick’s reading it right. The Hawks miss a scoring chance and this time it’s definitely amusement behind a burst of pride, which startles Patrick in its intensity, and superiority, which doesn’t. _Maybe next time, eh?_

Patrick rolls his eyes even though he knows Jonathan can’t see. The back and forth continues between them, mocking that’s as gentle as much as it’s fervent, and only when they’re on the bench. It’s nothing they haven’t said before, though there’s much less vitriol involved than there ever has been before. Patrick laughs out loud at one point, startling Shawzy, who looks at him like he’s gone momentarily crazy. Patrick ignores the look and turns back to the ice; they’re into the closing seconds and the score is tied. Patrick absolutely _does not_ want the game to go into OT, but curses under his breath when Jonathan tips in a goal. He points at Kaner as he turns on his skate. _Wish granted._

The fucker.

\---

_Are you trying to drown in the shower?_

Patrick stares down at the water swirling around his feet. _No_. He’s lost track of how long he’s been standing in the stall and the water is obviously cold where it’s pounding down on his back. He resists the urge to slam up his mental walls and settles for breathing through his nose slowly. _This is fucking weird, dude._

 _Don’t call me dude,_ Jonny says. _You think I’m not feeling the same?_

The thing is, Jonny and Patrick used to play together on the same team. Granted they were thirteen and Patrick’s pretty sure he’s forgotten most of it, but he does remember the impression of Jonny being fucking baller and liking it best when they were on the same line. He still has the vision of Jonny standing in the middle of the locker room when he first came in, expression an equal mix of dubious and apprehensive. They went their seperate ways, of course, and though Patrick remembers each and every time he’s played against Jonny since, the WJC was annoying and Patrick’s f-bomb on the ice is still the best articulation of his feelings about _that_ , he’s still spent the last few years having their rivalry amped up and shoved in his face at every opportunity. 

Shutting off the water, Patrick rests his head against the tiles, still looking down at his feet. The water swirls around the plughole. _What the fuck happens now?_

Jonny doesn’t say anything for a moment, but Patrick can feel him taking up all the space in Patrick’s head, like he deserves to be there and have it all. It would be arrogant on anybody else, but Patrick knows that he’s doing the same thing, taking up as much space in Jonny’s head as he can because it feels right and perfect and exactly what he’s supposed to be doing. 

_We deal with it,_ Jonny finally says, matter of fact. _And we don’t let it get in the way of hockey_.

Duh, Patrick thinks, but doesn’t say. He just shrugs one arm, realises Jonny can’t see it, and gives the mental equivalent. _Fine._

It’s not until Patrick’s spread-eagled on his bed and staring up at the ceiling that he realises it’s going to be a long time until he can see Jonny again. He doesn’t like the feeling that goes along with that.

\--- 

One of them is going to have to be traded.

Patrick stares at Stan Bowman and tries not to hate him. It’s not that he’s surprised by the decision, but he doesn’t like it. He’s happy in Chicago, feels settled in a way he hasn’t in a long time, but he knows Jonny likes being in St. Louis too. He’s been the captain for a long time now, and it’s a great achievement for him. Patrick can’t handle not being close to Jonny for much longer, though, and he knows something has to happen.

They’ve tried; they’ve spent the past four weeks playing their games and talking things over, and there was one embarrassing night where Patrick refused to budge from Jonny’s mind like they usually did at night because the separation was giving him anxiety. 

From the irritation and a quick brush of fear that’s squashed down as soon as it comes, Jonny is having or has had the same conversation. Patrick doesn’t want it to be him, but he finds himself saying, “I’ll go to St. Louis if that’s what needs to happen.”

He tries not to think about it too much until he’s back in his own apartment and Jonny’s trying to talk to him, to shove his way into Patrick’s mind. Patrick immediately slams up barriers - the first time he’s done so in a week - and sinks down onto the floor in his kitchen, back to the dishwasher. It’s cold and he probably shouldn’t stay here too long, but he doesn’t quite know what he’s doing.

Stan had shaken his hand and promised that he’d deal with it, and Patrick’s more afraid than ever that he’s going to end up in St. Louis with Jonny, but far removed from everything he’s known and grown used to the past six years.

\--- 

He ends up calling his mom, because if anybody can help him out, it’s going to be her. Or Jonny, but he’s still doing his best _not_ to let Jonny in. He can’t deal with that right now.

“Hi, sweetheart,” his mom says. She’s distracted, he can tell, and he thinks he’s interrupting something until she adds, “Jackie’s telling stories again.”

Patrick grins, knowing that Jackie’s stories, even if they’re short, can be quite involved. He can hear Jackie shout, “It’s a great one about-” before his mom cuts her off. 

“What’s the matter, sweetheart?” 

“One of us has to be traded,” he says, before he can pussy out and think up something else to say. 

There’s a brief pause. “I assume you told them you’d be happy to go to St. Louis?”

Jackie says something else in the background, but Patrick can’t hear it and isn’t sure he really wants to. “What else was I supposed to do? Jonny’s the captain there and they’re hardly going to be willing to trade him to Chicago because of a soulbond, are they?”

“There’s rules in place for this very reason,” his mom says, like he didn’t spend months in a lockout while those rules were being hashed out. Patrick leans against the island in his kitchen while she talks. “Are you sure this is what you really want?”

“No.” Patrick frowns down at the island. The _last_ thing he wants to do is leave Chicago and end up on a new team - a team that he’s not exactly friendly with for the most part - but what other option is there? 

“I’m not sure what I can say, darling, except that perhaps you should speak to Jonathan.”

“Why?” Patrick snorts. “What good is that going to do?”

His mom laughs. “I think you might be surprised.”

\--- 

Patrick takes his mom’s advice after dinner. He settles in on the couch, because he’s not sure about protocol and shit for having an emotional talk with someone in their _head_. Fuck it. He slides down into the couch, turns the TV on for background noise, and takes the walls down. He’s not expecting Jonny to rush back in or anything, but after five minutes of nothing, he gives Jonny a tentative nudge. _Hey_.

 _Patrick_ , Jonny says, and his tone is pleased. _What the hell happened?_

Patrick gives him a mental shrug, but he’s a little sheepish when he replies. _One of us is going to have to be traded, right?_

 _And they’re trading you?!_ Jonny sounds angry, like he can’t believe Chicago would be so stupid, which is bemusing and a little bit insane. 

_It’s hardly going to be you_. Patrick shoves his toes under the cushion at the end of the couch. _You’re the Captain and you’re putting up points consistently._

Patrick’s aware of his own less-than-stellar performance, and he’s tired of trying to make excuses for why that might be. Jonny doesn’t seem to share that opinion and he doesn’t seem to be willing to hide that he thinks Patrick’s wrong, either. Patrick’s head is all anger and frustration and it takes him a moment to realise that it’s all Jonny. _You’re the best they’ve got,_. That’s not exactly true, because they’ve got Sharpy and Duncs and Seabs and Staalzy, but Jonny isn’t taking that into consideration, it seems. Patrick’s a little pleased to hear it said aloud, even if part of him thinks that Jonny’s only saying it because he’s bonded to Patrick, but whatever. 

_I guess we’ll have to wait and see what happens._

\--- 

Patrick’s lounging around his apartment because they’re not due to play for another day and he totally can, when his phone vibrates across the surface of the coffee table. He answers it without checking caller ID. “Yo.”

“Is that any way to greet your illustrious captain, Kaner?” 

Patrick rolls his eyes. He’s pretty sure Q couldn’t have known what he was letting himself in for by giving Sharpy the C, and he’s absolutely sure that nobody on the team could have, but they all have to suffer now. “What do you want, Sharpy?”

He’s watching hockey, because he’s nothing if not predictable, and just his luck, there’s a Blues game on, so he’s watching Jonny skate his way to another win, when Sharpy says, “Toews is coming to Chicago.”

“What?!” Patrick almost chokes on his own tongue. He simultaneously shoves at Jonny through the bond as he says it, and the fact that Jonny’s been pretty quiet lately make sense. Jonny doesn’t make any move back, and what the fuck, what the _fuck_. “Are you serious?”

“Would I lie about this?” Patrick doesn’t reply, and Sharpy lets out a small huff. “Fine, I would, but I’m not. Didn’t he tell you?”

Patrick had told Sharpy about the whole bond thing right around the time he’d told Bowman, because there was no way they could go on keeping it a secret. Bonded couples are pretty damn obvious, even if they don’t all end up in a romantic relationship, and Patrick’s especially so because he zones out a lot whenever Jonny’s talking to him. There’s only so long you can ignore your teammates before they realise something’s up, so telling the captain of his team seemed like the right thing to do. Unfortunately, that captain happens to be Sharpy, who is also the biggest pain in Patrick’s ass. After Jonny.

“No, he didn’t tell me.” Patrick tries not to sound too petulant about it, but this is Sharpy, and it’s like he has the ability to zone in on the things you least want him to _all the fucking time_. “When?”

 _Next weekend,_ Jonny tells him, the same time Sharpy does.

\--- 

_Are you ever going to fucking talk to me?_ Jonny snaps.

Patrick’s trying to change, fuck him very much, and he deserves the silent treatment. He’s due in Chicago in a couple of days, but Patrick’s still pretty mad. It’s not that he wanted to go to St. Louis, god that would mean having to play with _Backes_ and that guy is an asshole, but he would have liked to have, you know, been in on the decision. He shakes it off once he’s out on the ice, and buries himself in hockey, in preparing for the game that night. They’re in Colorado, which means he doesn’t even have the luxury of being able to sink into his home comforts. 

Patrick’s still pretty distracted throughout practice, and a couple of the guys notice. Staalzy gives him the sideeye when he fails to sink one of his passes, which fuck him, it’s not like that’s anything _new_ lately, and Seabs corners him when he goes to grab a drink. Patrick’s used to Seabs stepping in and trying to give him a well-meant lecture, but he doesn’t have to appreciate them. It’s been pretty consistent from the moment he ended up on the Chicago roster for good, and everyone and their dog found it hilarious that Patrick was living with Bowman because he was homesick or a baby or whatever it was they were saying.

He’s more than done with that period of his life, but Seabs still thinks it’s his duty to step in and help Patrick out, which, no thanks. Patrick’s twenty-five and (fairly) stable in his life, and he really doesn’t need the babysitting anymore. 

“Save it,” Patrick says, before Seabs can say anything. “It’s fine.”

“Really?” Seabs raises an eyebrow, unfazed by Patrick’s attitude. “So there’s nothing bothering you, then? Not an upcoming trade?”

“No,” Patrick lies, and turns to look out across the ice. Shawzer and Bollig are doing something ridiculous, and Patrick wants to join them. His mom didn’t raise him without manners, though, so he waits for Seabs to stop trying to get whatever it is he wants.

“You sure about that?”

“Look,” Patrick says, turning to skate backwards, giving Seabs a wry smile. “Everything’s peachy, stop worrying.”

Seabs doesn’t look too convinced, and he’s pretty sure Jonny’s giving him the mental equivalent of a dubious expression, but fuck them both. Patrick’s just fine with everything.

\--- 

Jonny’s standing on his doorstep.

Patrick barely resists the urge to slam the door in his face, and turns to go back into his apartment. The tiles are cold on his bare feet, and he focuses on that instead of everything that he wants to say. Maybe the reporters are right about him maturing, because he would have said it anyway a couple of years earlier and got a fist to the face in return.

 _Hello to you too,_ Jonny says, even though he’s physically standing in Patrick’s kitchen and can use his mouth, a thought that Jonny picks up on. _Like you’ve been, you mean?_

Patrick gives him a withering glare over his shoulder. Jonny hasn’t got any luggage with him, so Patrick can only assume he’s left it at some hotel or something.

“You’d know if you’d bothered to let me in at any point.”

“I don’t have to,” Patrick snaps. “And stay out of my fucking head!”

Hurt flashes across Jonny’s face and Patrick tries not to feel guilty. “You’re making that pretty fucking easy.”

“Yeah, well.” Patrick shrugs, walking into the living room and dropping down onto the couch. He’s beyond caring and doesn’t know why the fact that he’s not the one to be traded should matter so much. He should be happy, right? Jonny’s the one sacrificing everything to be here so that they don’t have to deal with the shit that goes along with being separated. “You’re such a dick.”

Jonny’s standing in the doorway, and he’s paused there, like his anger is keeping him from moving. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“You!” Patrick scowls, dropping his feet to the floor. “Giving up everything like I need to be babied or some shit. I would have been just fine in St. Louis!”

Jonny’s expression morphs into disbelief. “Are you fucking kidding me right now? That’s your deal? You’re butthurt because I was the one who was traded?!”

It makes Patrick sound petty and mean when he says it like that, but it’s not - that’s not right. “You shouldn’t - we could have fixed this, you know? Why do you have to be the self-sacrificing asshole because I’m the one who can’t handle a fucking bond separation?”

There’s a long pause where Patrick can’t look at Jonny. He can feel the familiar prod in his mind that comes from Jonny trying to get in, but Patrick doesn’t know if he wants him in there, doesn’t really know what the hell is happening to him. “Look at me, Patrick.” _Or talk to me._

 _Why?_ Patrick asks, and the relief he sees on Jonny’s face makes something else in his chest seize. 

_You think I did all of this because I’m what, pitying you?_

Patrick shrugs. _Everyone else does._

Jonny sits down beside him on the couch, but Patrick makes no move to get closer, or to move away. _I know that’s not true._

“You know shit!” Patrick says, his voice hoarse. “You can’t just come in here and think you know everything about me!”

“I do,” Jonny says, and he surges forward, cupping Patrick’s face in his hands. Patrick wants to move away, but he can’t, feels like he’s rooted to the spot. _I do know everything. I can_ see _everything._

Patrick closes his eyes, but pushes his face into Jonny’s hand because it’s there. Jonny fills every space in his head, everywhere he’s lacking, and he doesn’t know what he’s going to do about everything, but he can’t deny that Jonny’s here, now, and he’s so, so glad to have him. “This is all so-” _I feel like this should be harder, like we shouldn’t - but I know everything about you, I feel like we’ve been -_ Jonny.

Jonny leans in, presses his lips to Patrick’s cheek, to the corner of his mouth. _I’m here._

\--- 

Patrick’s fairly sure it shouldn’t be so easy for Jonny.

He’s not sure what he’s expecting, really, but it’s not for Jonny to shoulder his way into the team’s practices, games and events and take up all the room like he’s always been there, like he _belongs_ there. He gets on with everyone, even if he needs to check his intensity and seriousness a little bit. He picks up on Jonny’s thoughts, then, about the Captain Serious comments he was plagued with his first season. They were overshadowed a little by the shit he and Oshie got up to in St. Louis, something Patrick’s determined not to think about too much, mostly because of the amusement that floods the bond whenever Jonny catches him. It’s different in Chicago, has to be, but Jonny doesn’t seem fazed. 

At least, not until they get back to his apartment, or Patrick’s, and their bond opens like a flood. Patrick knows Jonny’s nervous, can read him so, so well, even when he’s not using their bond to do so. He’s finding it hard to not be captain, but Q’s already making noise about him being an alternate, though Patrick’s not sure how the fuck that’s going to go down. He can’t see Duncs or Staalzy being happy about losing theirs.

Whatever, that’s not his business. What is, is making sure that Jonny knows he’s badass and plays fucking awesome hockey, and screw everyone if they don’t think he’s going to be a good fit in Chicago. 

_At least Chicago’s finally happy I’m playing well,_ Patrick tells him across the living room. He’s perched on Jonny’s couch while Jonny’s messing with the entertainment centre. The team helped him move all his shit in the week before, but he’s still trying to get everything in the right place. 

Jonny snorts. _They were just fucking dumb before_.

The Chicago media have taken to Jonny and Patrick skating on the same line and running with it, waxing lyrical about how good the trade was for them both, how much Patrick’s game is improving, and wondering if Jonny’s in Chicago for good. Patrick’s just glad their bond isn’t news anymore, and that he finally feels like he belongs. _You should totally have been drafted to Chicago in the first place._

 _I’d have killed you,_ Jonny tells him, pushing back up onto his feet. _Now budge over, I need to sit._

\--- 

It’s impossible to know how things might have gone if they’d been traded to the same team from the beginning, but Patrick can be thankful that they’re on the same team now. It’s weird, going from hardly knowing someone because he plays for a rival team, to having him permanently set up shop in your head. He’s dealing with it as best he can, including sending a million texts and calling his sisters all the fucking time, but they’re used to his shit.

“So how often do bonds turn into romantic ones anyway?” Jackie asks him one night. 

Jonny’s in the apartment, messing around in his kitchen, and Patrick snaps, “What the fuck?”

Jackie laughs. “I’m just saying.”

“I don’t know, it’s not like I’ve researched bonds or anything.” Patrick admits, and isn’t surprised by the long silence. 

“Are you kidding me? You bonded after knowing a guy previously, and didn’t think to look into why?” Jackie sounds incredulous. She has a point, but Patrick isn’t admitting it, certainly not when Jonny’s walking back into the room, holding two mugs of coffee. 

“There wasn’t time,” Patrick says, blatantly lying and they both know it. “Jonny didn't either.”

“Jonny didn’t either, what?” Jonny knocks Patrick’s legs off of the couch and sits down next to him. Patrick relays what Jackie said and Jonny makes a face. “There wasn’t time!”

Patrick laughs and Jackie hangs up on him. “Dude, I love you.”

Jonny preens, the dick, but Patrick settles back on the couch, taking the proffered mug of coffee. It’s not like he deliberately ignores the fact that he and Jonny bonded in the weirdest of circumstances, but he’s absolutely not giving Jonny up for anything. 

_Fuck no_ , Jonny informs him, eyes on the TV. 

Grinning, Patrick kicks his legs back up, resting them across Jonny’s knees. He gets a glare, but Jonny doesn’t shove him off or tell him to move, so that’s okay.

\--- 

Shawzy looks way too smug, and Patrick doesn’t think he should validate whatever feelings he’s having by asking, but he does anyway. “What?”

“Rumour has it you and Tazer have finally started shacking up. You couldn’t have waited like, a week?” Shawzy doesn’t look too put out, though, even if Patrick wants to punch him for a) betting on his love life, and b) being a complete dickface about Tazer. 

“We’re not shacking up,” Patrick says, bemused. “Why would we be?”

Shawzy frowns, but it’s Bollig who speaks up from Shawzy’s other side. “Are you sure? All the guys have been taking bets on when it’s going to be.”

“I think I’d know whether or not I was shacking up with someone!”

Jonny gives him a look from across the room, but he’s all amusement in Patrick’s head, the fucker. Staalzy gives them both a look and then pretends to throw up. “You guys are so disgusting, it’s a wonder.”

“Hey!” Patrick gives him the finger. “I’ll have you know, that if we were shacking up, which we’re _not_ , we would be fucking great.”

This time, the amusement morphs into surprise, but Patrick’s too busy shooting down Staalzy to pay much attention. It’s not until he’s tossing his bag into the back of Jonny’s car that he really thinks about it. “Dude, you know we’d be baller, right?”

Jonny’s already sitting in the driver’s seat, and looks out the window at him. He’s wearing sunglasses even though there’s a distinct lack of sun and Patrick rolls his eyes. “What?”

“In a relationship or fucking or whatever.”

When he slides into the passenger seat, the look Jonny’s giving him is a mix of despair and confusion. He shoves his way into Patrick’s head and tells him exactly what he thinks of him in language that would have his mother washing his mouth out.

 _I’ll tell your mom,_ Patrick informs him mildly, and buckles up. “I’m just saying.”

Jonny shoves the car into drive and peels out of the parking lot, and jesus fucking christ, Patrick doesn’t even know how he’s managed to last this long without crashing or totalling his car. _I can drive fine, asshole. And we aren’t together, so what does it matter?_

There’s something in his tone that sets alarm bells ringing, and just like before, Patrick can see parts of Jonny already shutting down and he is not dealing with another repeat of when they weren’t speaking. He’s aware he’s a little bit of a hypocrite, hating when Jonny shuts him out like that and not being able to handle the fact that he can’t read him, and he was the one who shut Jonny out for days. “What’s wrong with you?”

Jonny doesn’t answer, just keeps his attention on driving. Fuck that, Patrick will get this out of him if it kills him. 

_When we get home, I am getting this out of you._

“Not if I send you to your own apartment,” Jonny informs him mildly, and Patrick’s immediately blindsided by the fact that maybe, _maybe_ their teammates have a point, and he feels a little sick. “Patrick?”

 _Later_ , Patrick says, and looks out of the window.

\--- 

They pull up outside of Patrick’s apartment.

“Were you being serious?” Patrick asks, not even sure why it bothers him. He’s a grownass man, he can handle being in his totally awesome apartment alone. Without Jonny. He totally can. “About coming up?”

Jonny doesn’t reply for a moment, but when he does, he shifts in his seat, looking at Patrick head on. “It doesn’t bother me, what they say.”

It doesn’t answer Patrick’s question, and Patrick doesn’t have to ask Jonny what he’s talking about. “It’s not about that. Bonds don’t have to - Seabs and Duncs have a bond, you know.”

“Yeah,” Jonny says, giving Patrick a wry smile. “I kind of did. But what does that have to do with anything?”

“We don’t have to fuck or anything,” Patrick blurts out, feeling heat in his face. Jonny’s expression doesn’t change and Patrick plows on. “I mean, what they say, I don’t care either, but it shouldn’t - they shouldn't say it because it’s not like we are. Fucking.”

Jonny reaches across and grabs his wrist, tugs him around. _Look at me_.

Patrick does, hot everywhere Jonny’s fingers are pressing. 

_Bonds don’t have to be, but a lot of time they do. Would that bother you?_

_I-_ Patrick thinks about it. He thinks about the way Jonny’s everywhere in his head, filling up all the spaces and nothing about it is and has ever been weird or wrong. He thinks about the fact that Jonny fits so easily into all the spaces of his life, into hockey, into _Chicago_ and how Patrick doesn’t think he could stand to ever have him not be there. _No_.

Jonny’s smile is every-fucking-thing Patrick has ever needed. Between one breath and the next, Jonny’s kissing him. It’s uncomfortable, awkward and something is digging into his hip that he knows for sure is not attached to Jonny, but he focuses on the slide of Jonny’s mouth against his own, the feel of Jonny’s hand in his hair. He feels the thrum of _mine, mine, mine_ that’s been present since the first moment they bonded get louder and stronger the longer they kiss. 

_I love you,_ Patrick thinks, folding himself around Jonny in their minds. 

It should feel like it’s too soon. If this was anybody else, Patrick would already be out of the door and probably drinking his way onto Deadspin yet again, but Jonny won’t let him, won’t let go. It feels right, feels like the best thing Patrick’s ever had, ever believed he could have. 

_It’s because you’re mine,_ Jonny tells him, firmly. He sounds sure about it, like it’s all been worth it, and that’s all Patrick wants. He pulls away, gives Jonny a smirk. 

_So you don’t miss St. Louis? Don’t miss Oshie or Backes?_

Jonny rolls his eyes and digs his thumb into Patrick’s wrist, hard enough to make Patrick aware of it, but not enough to hurt. _If I said yes?_

Patrick shrugs. _I might never speak to you again._

There’s a pause. _Maybe-_

“Fuck you,” Patrick says, laughing, and then, _I’d miss you. Y’know, if you went back._

There’s something close to fondness on Jonny’s face when he says, _Probably a good thing that I don’t intend to then, eh?_

 _Fucker._ Patrick fists a hand into Jonny’s shirt and hauls him in this time, kisses him hot and hard, feeling the pound of Jonny’s heartbeat under his fingers.

 _You love me,_ Jonny says, pulling away. He looks smug, even though his mouth is red and swollen, and his hair is dishevelled, though Patrick thinks it probably looks a lot better than his. There’s an edge to his expression and to his tone, though, like he thinks maybe -

 _I do_ , Patrick tells him firmly. _I really fucking do._

Jonny nods. _Good, because I’m pretty sure I love you back._

“Pretty sure?” 

“Totally sure.” Jonny amends. _I love you._

That’s good. Really, fucking good.

The End 

**Author's Note:**

> God. Remind me never to sign up for an exchange ever again. (hahahahahaha.)


End file.
